These Hallowed Halls
by Nathan Perry
Summary: JLA & West Wing crossover. Heroism and politics so rarely go together. Is this the exception, or does this fateful meeting bode ill for both the Justice League of America AND the Bartlet Administration.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note/disclaimer: Elements of this story were derived from MyklarCure's story "JLAint: A Year in the Life" and were used with permission. If you haven't read his stories, A) you should, and B) it will help understand a backstory I may not totally review. JLA characters are the property of DC Comics, a subsidiary of Time Warner. West Wing characters are the property of Warner Brothers Television, also a subsidiary of Time Warner. Good to know it's only one company I'm ripping off here.

----- ----- -----

**These Hallowed Halls**

by Nathan Perry

"Heroes," said the man at the podium, "wear many uniforms." A phalanx of cameras and microphones all trained their electronic eyes and ears on the two men. "The janitor who works two jobs so his children can go to college." They were flanked by two American flags. "The fireman who runs into a burning building to bring others out of the flames." On a blue curtain hung behind them was the Seal of the President of the United States. "The soldier who fights so that his family can be free; so that his neighbors and their families can be free."

Behind the ranks of reporters stood a crowd of hundreds gathered to witness the presentation. A mixture of natives, tourists and the polyglot cross-section of the nation that moved to the capital for a variety of reasons had braved the winter cold and made their way to the National Mall. Prominently visible above and behind the blue backdrop was the great white spire of the Washington Monument. The speaker was dressed in a dark grey suit with a red tie, his graying hair combed straight back. He was a good eight or nine inches shorter than the man next to him.

"But this uniform," the speaker continued, indicating the taller man next to him. "This uniform is _synonymous_ with heroism. This uniform represents the very ideal of man striving to help man. Striving to help mankind for no reason other than a personal sense of duty." The speaker gripped the podium and leaned forward, his practiced oratory rising to a crescendo. "This uniform makes us all look up in the sky and yearn to reach just a little higher!" A burst of cheers and applause could be heard from the audience, but the President just raised his voice and continued.

He turned to face the man in the red and blue costume and spoke directly to him, "For your dedication to your fellow man, your selfless pursuit of justice, and the heroic actions which inspire all of us to strive for greatness, it is with the thanks of a grateful President…a grateful nation…and a grateful man, that I present to you this nation's highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom." The cheers from the crowd were thunderous as President Josiah Bartlet took the small mahogany box with the enameled golden medal off of the podium and handed it to Superman.

----- ----- -----

"Nice one," Josh said as he walked out of his office into the hall.

"Yeah it was," came Sam's reply. On his way to Leo's office, he'd stopped at the TV tuned to CNN overlooking Donna's cubicle to watch the brief speech before resuming, "Wasn't me, though." They passed through the Communications office where they were joined by Toby Ziegler.

"Nice speech," Josh offered.

Toby glanced behind him towards Josh and Sam, eyebrow arched in surprise. "Zoe was on that plane. You think he asked me to write his gratitude for him?"

Josh looked to Sam and said, "Ok, I'm gonna shut up now."

"Good call."

As the three of them filed past Margaret's desk into Leo's office, C.J. was already waiting inside.

"You weren't at the thing?" Sam asked her.

"Why would I be? He wasn't going to be taking any questions, and even if Superman did need spin, he'd have to hire his own press secretary. My briefing's not until the press gets back."

Sam blinked, "I'm not saying you were needed there. I'm saying…" he paused as C.J. scowled at him. "You didn't want to meet him?"

"Of course I want to meet him. I'm saying that unless you want me asking for his autograph in front of about eighteen thousand cameras, _I didn't need to be there._"

"Ah."

"If we could get on with this?" Leo asked from behind his desk. "First, where are we in the numbers?"

Josh answered, "Gallup has us at fifty-five, up from fifty-three."

"That's it? What about internals?"

"Joey said to hold off on that until after today's speech. All most people knew when that poll was in the field was that something bad almost happened. She said the bump would come after everyone saw a picture of the two of them shaking hands."

Sam glanced at the TV, where Superman was speaking. "What about his?"

"What about his what?" Toby asked.

"His numbers." Josh and Toby both stared silently at Sam. "What?" he asked.

"No one's going to waste money putting that poll in the field," Josh stated. "The only people who don't approve of Superman are Lex Luthor and that guy with the radio show in Denver who claims there's a Kryptonian invasion fleet orbiting Saturn, and it's a tossup who more people are listening to right now."

"Is there a risk of a backlash here?" C.J. asked. "Because it could look like we're taking advantage of the situation."

"We are taking advantage of the situation," Toby interjected.

Josh shrugged. "Everyone in Washington who got anywhere _near_ Leon McKinley is running for cover. The Majority Leader's been getting hit from all sides. The RNC's talking about finding someone else to run for his seat. No one's going to say 'no' to this. The worst they might try is to say 'He's only doing it because of his daughter.'"

"And if they say that?" Toby pressed.

Sam chimed in, "We say that we think every American son and daughter deserves the same. You know that's technically illegal?" he pointed at the television screen where Superman was waving as he took off into the sky. "Anyone who flies over Washington and doesn't file a flight plan or isn't operating a U.S. military aircraft is committing a felony."

"Is that any _one_ or any _aircraft_?" C.J. asked.

"The point is, the law makes sense," Sam argued. "Now no one's going to shoot down Superman-"

"Not that we could if we wanted to," Toby noted, eyes climbing skyward.

"-But we know he is on our side. They all are. It's not a black and white world, but these are the good guys. Let's say so, with the full voice and authority of the law of the land."

Leo's door opened and Margaret poked her head in. "He's back," she said, and Leo stood up, walking through the door that separated his office from the Oval one next door.

----- ----- -----

"He's back," Wally said as the hum of the teleporter grew into a whine. After several moments, the column of coruscating energy solidified into the Man of Steel, who proceeded to walk out of the tube towards them.

"Well, don't be shy," Kyle said, "Let us all see."

Clark shrugged, smiled sheepishly and opened the box. Inside, on a blue velvet cushion lay a five-pointed golden star with white enamel, a red enamel pentagon behind it, and a blue enamel disc with thirteen golden stars in the middle of the larger star. The medal was attached to a golden ring, the metal worked into the shape of five American Eagles stretching their wings between the points of the star, and was attached to a white-bordered blue ribbon.

"How come he didn't pin it on you?" Eel asked.

"It'd break the pin," Wally joked.

Clark answered, "It's tradition. Medals only get pinned on military or paramilitary uniforms."

"You sure about that?" Kyle asked. "I thought I saw Luthor pin badges on boy scouts."

"A boy scout uniform _is_ paramilitary," Bruce noted from his position in front of the monitors.

"That _is_ a boy scout's uniform," Eel said, a single extended digit pointing at the 'S' shield, eliciting a few chuckles and a pair of rolled eyes hidden behind a mask. He glanced towards Diana and Arthur and asked, "How come your countries never gave any of us medals?"

"Oh I'm sorry Eel," Arthur answered dryly, "Why don't you swim by some time and I'll award you the order of the Holy Mackerel?"

"You know he says things like that and then gets testy over the fish jokes," Wally muttered to Kyle.

"Salmon should tell him to stop," Kyle answered.

"Please don't," Wally begged. "Dick used to subject Garth to every one of his two thousand three hundred and seventy-eight fish puns. And I had to listen to _all of them!"_

"Themiscyra doesn't award decorations such as medals," Diana noted. "It's assumed that if you did some deed worth of noting, people will remember without need for such visual aids. Still, it was nice of the President to express his gratitude so publicly. It's the kind of PR we could have used before."

Bruce grunted as he typed away at the keyboard in front of him. "It's called a 'photo op'. It's the kind of PR the President couldn't _afford_ when their polling data on us told them he couldn't."

"Don't be so cynical, Bruce," Diana replied. "Clark just saved the man's daughter."

"And he was properly grateful," Bruce noted flatly, "in front of hundreds of people, every television camera in Washington and with the Presidential Seal and the Washington Monument in the background. What could I possibly read into that?" He saved the file he was working on, closed it and stood up. Wordlessly, he made his way over to the teleportation tube, pressed a few buttons on the side, and stepped into the tube shortly before disappearing.

"Captain Personality has left the building," Plastic Man announced.

"I should go too," Clark said, "the press briefing's going to happen soon."

----- ----- -----

"The press briefing's going to happen soon," C.J. said. Leo had gone into the Oval Office, but the rest of senior staff was still in the Chief of Staff's. "If we're going to do this, now might be a good time. Strike when the iron's hot."

"No," Toby said.

"I know you're against this, but I don't think it's your call," Sam said.

"I don't mean no we don't do this, although I am against it, I mean no, we don't announce this right now. I want numbers first. And before we ask this publicly, I want to make sure they're actually going to say yes. If we are going to do this, and I don't think that should be a given just yet, let's move quietly."

"The President should have asked him at the award presentation," Sam suggested.

"Yes," Toby answered, "because when I say 'let's move quietly,' I mean let's ask him in front of the entire White House Press Corps."

"I may know how we can get them here quietly…" C.J. offered.

----- ----- -----

"How's it looking in there?" Bartlet asked as he hung his jacket on the stand behind the desk.

"Sam's for it," Leo answered. "Josh likes the politics. C.J.'s worried about a backlash." After a pause, he said, "Toby's against it."

"What's his deal?"

Leo frowned. "I don't know. He doesn't like it, but he's not raising specific objections."

"Toby?" Bartlet asked. Leo nodded. "Toby _Ziegler_?"

"Yeah, I don't know..." Leo said, shrugging.

"You know what we need to do?"

"We need to ask them first?"

"We need to ask them first."

"Good idea, Mr. President," Leo said dryly.

"Look, I think getting them on board's a good idea, but I can understand why they might be a little worried. I haven't forgotten the mistakes of the Luthor Administration, but I can't speak for the next guy. Look, get the staff in here so we can finish and C.J. can go brief."

Leo walked back into his office and waved for the others to follow.

After they entered, Toby began, "Sir, I want to see numbers first, but before we do anything on this front, we need to ask _them._ They may not even want our seal of approval."

"Everyone's just full of good ideas today," Leo muttered.

"We have two aliens," Toby continued, "someone who reports to an alien authority, a reigning foreign monarch, the heir to another foreign monarchy and an urban legend. These people have never needed the law on their side before, who says they want it now?"

"Urban legend?" Sam asked Josh. "He doesn't believe-"

"He's from Brooklyn," Josh noted. Sam's eyes crept skyward.

"Roll your eyes all you want," Toby said, "the guy is real, and I'd bet we have intel that confirms it." He glanced in Leo's direction for confirmation.

Leo said, "NSA and Checkmate won't commit either way. No proof, but they're not willing to dismiss it either. The FBI has no official position, although regional directors from the Gotham office have gone on record."

"For or against?" Josh asked.

"Both."

Josh chuckled. "Doesn't really support the argument that law enforcement doesn't need help solving crimes."

"You seriously think the police department of a city with eight million people living in it keeps a giant Bat-shaped spotlight on the roof of its headquarters without being pretty sure the man is real?" Toby asked.

Sam noted, "Studies have shown that Gotham City's crime rate does go down when the signal is visible, regardless of whether or not there were any appearances or incidents attributed to the mythical Batman."

Toby sighed and massaged his scalp. After a moment of silence, he said, "The Batman exists, his existence and methods violate every iota of both the letter and the spirit of due process, and we want to give him a pat on the back and legitimize his _illegal_ activities. He's not an urban legend, he's a civil rights violation with a cape! All of them are."

Toby began to pace back and forth. It was Sam who broke the silence, "So what would you do, arrest them?"

"Aren't they breaking the law?"

"Yes," Sam answered, "but they're a huge positive for society. The answer is to _change the law_. States have Good Samaritan laws for just this reason. Someone trying to help shouldn't be punished for it."

"Fine. Make your case for that. But just for that. We don't need to be giving these people badges and immunity from prosecution."

"Okay," the President interjected, "we're not going to settle this here. Is there anything else to go over before the briefing?"

"The Assistant Secretary for Foreign Commerce wants to revise the minimum standards for Fair Trade labeling on coffee," Sam said.

"Yeah," C.J. answered, "not gonna get asked about that."

"The Lincoln carrier group is going to be moving out of Pearl Harbor for the week," Josh added.

"Maneuvers?" asked C.J.

"No, they just needed to clean the docks."

"Ok, we're done here," Leo said.

As the staff began to leave, Bartlet asked, "You've got your meeting?"

"In five minutes," Leo answered.

"You sure you don't want to bring him in here? I have two whole minutes of free time coming up."

"Absolutely not. I know he was a big contributor, but his reputation…he doesn't need to be in the Oval Office during working hours."

----- ----- -----

"…and the Lincoln carrier group is going to be out of Pearl Harbor for approximately one week so that dockside maintenance can be performed," C.J. concluded. "I know you'll all want to make sure that goes above the fold. Danny?"

"C.J., should we be reading anything into the fact that the medal was awarded outside the White House?"

"Yes Danny," the Press Secretary said deadpan, "we were going to have it in the Oval Office but the Secret Service was afraid he'd sneeze and blow out the walls."

"C.J…." the bearded reporter began.

"The catastrophe he prevented may have saved _thousands_ of lives, never mind how many more lives would have been adversely affected by the economic fallout of a disaster of this magnitude smack dab in the middle of Gotham City. The whole country has a reason to thank Superman, and judging by the turnout, a lot of them wanted to do so in person. Steve."

"Can you comment on the rumor that the Majority Leader is being told not to run for re-election by the RNC?"

"I wouldn't comment on that even if it weren't a rumor. Linda?"

"Has the President given any thought to bringing Superman on in an official capacity?"

"Well, he could have my job."

"C.J…."

"It's not something that's come up." She looked to the fourth seat from the right in the third row. Norman, the reporter from the Daily Planet, was who she was going to call on next, but in his seat was a spectacled man with dark hair. "The President thinks Superman's doing a fine job as things stand." She glanced down at her notes, confirming what she'd already guessed when she saw him listed as 'C. Kent' "Mister Kent, welcome to our tea party. You got your helmet and vest when you signed in?" There was laughter, but it was nervous laughter. None of them had forgotten that this was the man then-President Luthor had tried to silence permanently.

Clark smiled genially, "Thank you Miss Cregg."

After waiting for a moment, she said, "You can ask a question now," eliciting a few chuckles from the other reporters.

"Oops. Sorry. Uh, ok," Clark said, rearranging his notes, "Now, as I understand it, the Medal of Freedom is the highest honor that can be bestowed on a U.S. citizen not serving in the military."

"Yes," C.J. said curiously, "That was the question?"

"No. My question is, how does the President know that Superman is, in fact, a U.S. citizen?"

----- ----- -----

'_Grandstanding…'_ Bruce thought, grimacing as he watched the TV that had been tuned to C-SPAN. That's all it was, Bruce felt. Clark hadn't been able to get in the door during the Luthor Administration, and Luthor's V.P. hadn't been inclined to take questions from him after he assumed office either. The media was merciless on that score, but in practical terms the new President had been the lamest of lame ducks. He didn't even run when what would have been Luthor's first term was up.

And now that he was back in the White House… Bruce supposed Clark could just be overcompensating, making sure in his own mind that he treated this President as fairly as any other. The sound was off, but even if Bruce couldn't read lips, the Press Secretary's body language would have been a dead giveaway. Bruce sighed inwardly and looked away. Toning down the playboy act was one thing, but watching C-SPAN was pushing it.

"Mr. McGarry can see you now," the red-haired secretary said.

Bruce smiled at her and said, "Thank you, Madeline," and headed into Leo McGarry's office. She smiled back and didn't point out that he'd gotten her name wrong. When he walked in, Leo was starting at one of the four TV screens in his office, massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Bruce glanced at the monitor and asked, "Something wrong?"

Leo shook his hand and said, "Just a silly question we don't happen to have an answer for. Usual knucklehead stuff." He offered a hand which Bruce shook firmly. "Please, sit down." When Bruce sat, Leo said, "You okay?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

It was Leo's turn to look surprised. "The tower?"

"Oh," Bruce said, "I was in Waikiki when it happened. I didn't even hear about it until after the plane was on the ground. Told everyone who wanted to they could go home for the day." Shaking his head, he added, "It would have been a horrible tragedy." Bruce paused and said, "Do you think the President could put me in touch with Superman? I don't imagine he's much for monetary rewards, but I'm sure there's some charity he might know of that could use a few million dollars."

"I'll see what we can do," Leo offered. "Look, the reason I asked you here is that you're going to start seeing editorials and columns in the business pages questioning the parts and materials contracts Wayne Enterprises has with the Justice League."

Bruce frowned, "Questioning what, exactly? I had those things looked at left and right by the boys in legal. I've been assured they're ironclad."

"It's not the legality that's going to come into question. It's the connections. You were a contributor when we were polling in single digits. Now, we're in office and you've got a big contract that wasn't up for public bid."

"_You_ didn't have anything to do with that. It wasn't put up for public bid because there were only a half-dozen companies that had the technical knowledge, and of those, at the time only two had the production and transportation capacity they required, and the other was LexCorp."

"Exactly," Leo said sardonically, "Where do you think this is coming from?"

Bruce frowned. The Chief of Staff was intimating that Luthor was the source of the allegations. Superman, Oracle and himself had all been keeping their ears open for any sign of activity from the former President and CEO since his resignation from office and the ignominious downfall of the giant corporation he once ran, but they hadn't heard a peep. Lex had taken up residence at one of his estates outside of Metropolis, and appeared to be taking very little in the way of meetings, calls or solicitations. Of course the U.S. Government might have had their own reason for watching him, and while they might not have had the unusual talents available to the Justice League, they had far more resources that could be put into play. "I don't understand. If they can't touch the contract themselves, what are they trying to do?" He asked this, but it was obvious what Lex was trying to do, start a PR war. Which wouldn't do much by itself, but then this was only the opening move. The only question was whether this was aimed at WE or the League.

"There's an outside chance he's going to try to make a play for what's left of LexCorp that you haven't bought," Leo answered, "but the real goal seems to be to embarrass us."

Bruce's frown deepened. Typical. Luthor didn't play the PR game because he cared how many people approved of him. It just made it easier to get what he wanted. Trust these politicians to see the game as being played solely on their level. "And you're going to ask me to terminate the contract."

"We can't ask you to do that…" Leo said, sighing and adding, "Only, yeah…we're asking you to do that."

"You know, of course, that even if the League were willing to hire LexCorp, and between Luthor himself and his replacement, who happened to be the daughter of an international terrorist, that's quite an 'if', they no longer have the capacity to produce all the League would require."

"I do."

Bruce stood and said, "Then I'm sorry Mr. McGarry, but I have to say no. Even ignoring the disservice I'd be doing my company, I can't in good conscience _not _continue to supply them with equipment they need to do their jobs."

Leo nodded once, then again and said, "Alright." He stood as well and said, "Come on then," leading him towards the side door of his office. In response to Bruce's raised eyebrow, he said, "You wanted the President to put you in touch with Superman, right? That wasn't quid pro quo, Bruce. We'll get him for you."

----- ----- -----

"Come in and have a seat, Mister Kent." C.J. said, leading the tall reporter into her office.

"Isn't it usually the Senior White House correspondent that gets these follow-ups?" Clark asked as he sat down.

C.J. sat behind her desk and answered, "It is, yes, but that's because most of these guys have stopped trying to play 'Stump C.J.' Today, you're our winner."

"If you don't mind my saying, this is a pretty strange beat," Clark noted.

"Well you asked a pretty strange question."

"It was a fair question."

"It was absolutely not a fair question. No, we don't have Superman's birth certificate or driver's license on record. He wasn't born here and he's got other ways of getting around. This is Superman! Truth, Justice and the American Way. We don't care if he votes or pays his taxes. I would bet you any amount of money that he _does_, and since you've interviewed him, I don't think you'd take that bet either."

"I'm not really much for gambling-"

"The only reason to ask that question is either to embarrass Superman or to embarrass us, but you know what? We're not embarrassed." She stood up, placed her palms on her desk and leaned forward, saying, "We gave the Medal of Freedom to Superman, who may or may not be a U.S. citizen. And if he's not? We don't care. He's an American hero whether he's an American or not, and you can print all of that." She sat back down and said, "If you've got follow-ups, you can ask them now."

"I think that answered the question pretty well, Miss Cregg. Thank you." He jotted down some notes on a pad of paper while C.J. stared across the desk at him.

After a moment, C.J. asked, "Your paper, specifically you and your wife, seem to get the lion's share of quotes from him."

The jotting of notes halted. Adjusting his glasses, Clark said mildly, "Was there a follow-up to that, Miss Cregg?"

"Yes, but it's off the record."

Clark nodded and put the notepad away, "Go ahead."

"Would you be able to get a message to him that the President would like a word with him? _Without_ all the cameras and press around? If so, you can have a fifteen minute exclusive with the President."

Tapping the base of his pen against his chin, Clark said, "I think I just might be able to…"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note/disclaimer: I probably should have mentioned at the beginning of the first chapter that I planned to write one chapter every 18 months. I didn't plan any such thing, but clearly I should have said so anyway. I'll own up to my tardiness, but I don't own any of these characters. Additional note: in this world, there is no New York City. Well, there is, but it's Gotham City. It's why Toby being from Brooklyn meant he had a differing view of Batman's existence.

**These Hallowed Halls**

by Nathan Perry

Aboard the Watchtower, Kyle looked at Wally with a confused expression on his face. "What the heck was that?" he asked, pointing to the monitor showing CNN replaying the exchange between Clark and the White House Press Secretary.

"I dunno," Wally answered, "but can we put the movie back on now? Watching the news to see Clark go a few rounds with Zod is one thing. Watching it to see him poking the White House is another. Change it back, they're gonna form Voltron in the next scene!"

----- ----- -----

Several thousand feet below the surface, a twenty-two year old in a leather bomber jacket worn over a _Voltron_ t-shirt exclaimed, "Got it!"

"What _precisely_ is it that you've 'got?'" the taller, older man asked from just inside the door as he entered the room.

"The data signal relay," the young man explained, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose and swiveling his chair to face away from the bank of monitors making up one of the walls. "Like you said, they had to be tuned in, which where they are means that it has to come from satellites. Now, CNN, BBC, those they can get from any number of sources, but satellites beaming signals for regional sources like Agence Afrique, LARNA or Television New Zealand are only going to be coming from satellites in geostationary orbits over those regions. For an installation on the moon to be able to hook into those feeds when they're on the other side of the Earth, they had to have some kind of relay network set up. I've got it."

"Well well Mr. Stevens," Luthor said, his lips curling slightly upwards, "It seems you have indeed got it."

----- ----- -----

"I've got it," Sam said as he entered Toby's office. Toby finished the sentence he was typing before looking up from his computer. The Deputy continued, "The sticking point, from a legal standpoint, at least, was that there was no legal status that applied to them."

"And you've found a way to get around the fact that our laws weren't created with superheroes in mind?" Toby asked.

"Yes. Officially recognize the Justice League as a foreign nation and ally ourselves with them."

Toby sat silent for a moment, then leaned his head forward and pressed his fingers against his scalp. "I'm being quiet because I know there's no point in asking if you're serious."

"It's the perfect solution," Sam argued, "There are emergency statutes which allow for the operations of allied forces on American soil with our permission."

"And it allows us cover if they do something we don't like in that we can talk tough and call them foreigners in the press. There's just one problem Sam, diplomatic immunity! Any one of them that can claim diplomatic status, and do you want to bet that's not going to be all of them, can be completely free from prosecution."

"And that's different from the current situation how, exactly?"

"There's precedent. Caprezzo's v Justice Society. Gotham State, 1948. It was a lawsuit from a restaurant claiming that the actions of the JSA had harmed their business."

"And what was the result of the suit?"

"Found for the defendant, the restaurant was a front for the Gambino family, but the point is that in hearing the case, it established that the business had standing to sue, and that the Justice Society could be held liable."

"The Justice Society was based in Gotham, wasn't it?"

"What's your point?"

"The Justice League operates from the moon. I don't think we've got jurisdiction there."

"We could claim it. It's got our flag on it."

"I'm taking this to Leo,"

"I'll go with you."

----- ----- -----

"I'll go with the pasta salad," Bruce said.

"Anything to drink?"

Bruce glanced briefly in Leo's direction. "Some spring water, if you've got it." Ordinarily he'd ask for the most expensive scotch available and just not drink it, but aside from not wanting to leave scotch lying around the office of a recovering alcoholic, the Chief of Staff might get suspicious if he didn't drink any. "Thank you Marilyn," he said.

Margaret nodded and stepped outside. After a moment, she glanced back inside and said, "Sam and Toby."

"Send them in," Leo said. "This'll just take a minute," he said to Bruce as the two filed in. "Bruce Wayne, Toby Ziegler and Sam Seaborn." Handshakes followed and Toby glanced curiously in Leo's direction. "He said no," Leo said, answering Toby's unspoken question. Sam smiled in response. Toby very much did not.

Leo stood and walked out of the office with Sam and Toby. After a few minutes, the three of them returned. Toby's mood hadn't appeared to improve. "Mr. Wayne," Sam began, "we don't actually want you to cancel any of your contracts with the League."

"Well that's good," Bruce said genially, "Since I wasn't going to, we can all get what we want."

"We want to tax them," Toby said flatly.

Bruce frowned, "I don't understand."

"We're considering recognizing the Justice League as a foreign government," Sam said. "Some of the materials and equipment your company provides carry export tariffs."

"Most of the materials and equipment my company provides is produced here in the United States. It sounds like you're providing me financial motivation to move production facilities overseas," Bruce said.

"And we very much hope you won't do that," Toby replied. "It certainly wouldn't look good given that the entire point of recognizing the League is to allow them the freedom to operate in this country, like they did in Gotham just the other day."

Bruce had to tamp down the glare that threatened to appear in response. Leo interjected, "Bruce, we're not trying to stick it to you or your company. We're trying to let these people do what they do better, but in doing that, there's a downside for companies that do business with them, and for the most part, that's you."

Bruce nodded slowly in response. Sam picked up the thought, "The League has been in a sort of legal limbo for years. They exist, but they have no status. Suppose a company like yours sold them faulty whatevers for their space station. They'd have no recourse for redress."

"They could just send Batman over to threaten them," Toby commented, eyes rolling skyward.

"No _legal_ recourse," Sam said.

"I suppose I'd rather be sued than have Batman threatening me," Bruce said in as light a tone of voice as he could force.

"Yeah you would," Toby answered.

Leo shot him a look before saying, "Bruce, you stuck to your guns when we asked you not to maintain your contracts. We'd like you to keep doing that even if it costs you a few million off your bottom line."

"And this meeting was what?" Bruce asked.

"Us asking you to reconsider the status of some of your contracts and you saying no," Leo answered.

Bruce nodded. "I've got it."

----- ----- -----

"I've got it!" Tim said as the kitchen timer rang once, placing one steadying hand on the granite countertop of the island as he vaulted over it. After landing easily, he reached towards the oven when his hand was smacked soundly by a wooden spoon.

"Alfred say not let Tim touch," Cassandra said, wielding the spoon like one of Dick's escrima sticks. "Say Tim ruin whole batch."

"Oh c'mon," Tim protested. "They're done! You heard the timer."

"The timer, Master Timothy, is an approximation." Alfred said as he softly crossed the tile towards the oven. "Unlike one of Master Bruce's chemical processes, cooking is an art. A recipe can tell you approximately how long something _should_ take to cook, it cannot tell you how long it _will_ take. It cannot determine exactly how much milk will be burned out of the chocolate by the melting process. It cannot determine to the milliliter how much liquid six large eggs will add to the mix."

"Moreover," Alfred said, his voice hardening, "it cannot determine how much heated air will escape the oven due to overeager young crimefighters opening the oven to smell the cookies. Nor can I, hence the need to set Miss Cassandra to guarding said oven."

----- ----- -----

"You want have a guard _where?_"

"The refrigerator."

"Donna-"

"I'm a girl on a budget, Josh. Eating out every day isn't an option. Even the mess isn't cheap, and their salads are tiny.'

"Donna-"

"Y'know not for nothing, but properly done, a salad can be a meal."

"Donna-"

"I make great salads. Salads that are meals. And they're being stolen."

"Donna, ignoring the fact that I have no authority to order the Marines to do anything, we are not going to have a full-time guard for your lunch."

"It'd only need to be part-time. I'll eat my lunch by noon."

"I'm really not having this conversation." Josh stood up from his chair, brushing his hair backwards and taking a few paces around his office.

"Well if we can't post a guard, maybe we can ask the Secret Service to catch who's doing it."

"Where in the Treasury Department's list of responsibilities does your salad appear?"

"How about the NSA?"

"Donna-"

"I work sixteen hour days and we spend forty billion dollars on intelligence, and that's just the part of the budget we know about. Surely we can kick a few man-hours my way?"

"Leave now,"

"I make great salads."

"Well yeah, why else would someone be stealing them all the time?"

"I want my lunch," Donna said, walking out of one door of his office at the exact moment Toby walked in the other.

"What'd he say?" Josh asked.

"He said no," Toby replied, clearly frustrated.

"Well that's good, isn't it?"

"Oh sure. It's fantastic. A stink's being raised about the connections between one of the largest corporations in America and the Lunar Lookouts, the President's right-hand man asks him point-blank to distance himself and he says no. It's wonderful. I'm sure no one will think to ask why we didn't do anything but ask."

"Because we have absolutely no legal grounds for doing anything else?"

"And you don't think that sounds like covering? Like letting a huge contributor off the hook on the basis of a technicality?"

"Off of _what_ hook, exactly? There's no accusation of a crime. There's no _evidence_ of a crime. There's no evidence of any wrongdoing whatsoever."

"It's going to be _spun_ that there is."

"So spin back, suggest that it's more of the same Mckinley-esque politics that people are sick of."

"It won't work."

"Why not?"

"Because," Toby said quietly, turning and walking out of the office, "it's not the Republicans who are going to be the ones spinning it."

----- ----- -----

Senator Stanley Simmons (R-AL) made his way from his office through the halls of the Capitol Building towards the meeting room. Senator Simmons was not having a good day, but good days had been few and far between. Some way or another, news of the meeting between Leon McKinely and Steve Pennington, Simmons' Chief of Staff, had leaked.

Simmons supposed he could have been more temperate in his response, but could he be blamed for losing his cool? Simmons could read the writing on the wall. After 76 years and two heart attacks, Majority Leader was as far as his career was going to advance. Simmons figured that if he couldn't be President, he could pick the next President.

McKinley would have been perfect. Bipartisan support, clean as a whistle, and a natural orator. Of course, for all McKinley had done, he still wouldn't have had the inside-the-beltway experience that a President needs, but a certain Majority Leader could easily help with that. But that was long gone. With that ridiculous speech, McKinley had effectively ended his career in politics before it began, which would have been tolerable if it hadn't leaked that he was trying to encourage McKinley to run for President.

There just weren't that many people who knew about Pennington's meetings with McKinely. So, Simmons assumed the worst. _'Maybe I was wrong'_, Simmons thought, _'but the bastard should have covered his tracks better.'_

As Simmons arrived in the conference room, barely noticing the presence of Secret Service agents waiting outside the door, he glanced around the room. The Speaker of the House was present, as was the House Majority Leader, both Majority Whips and the head of the Republication National Committee, all seated around the table. A television on a stand hooked up to some gadget that Simmons didn't recognize was present. "So this is all of you asking me to resign, I suppose?"

"Stan, settle down," the RNC chair began, "we just-"

"I will _not_ step down," Simmons said hotly. "If the caucus wants to vote me out, it can vote me out, but you all know that if that happens, we'll be the minority party in both houses after the next elections."

"Senator," came a baritone voice from the television, "No one here is asking you to step down as Majority Leader."

Simmons turned to look in the direction of the television. "What the hell's the matter with you people, you let someone else in on this meeting? Who?"

"Senator," that same voice said. As Simmons studied the image, it seemed to be a headshot of a man, but the man was so shrouded in shadow that he had no idea who it was. "You wanted to choose the next President. McKinley failed, of course. If you like, you can give up and let _the voters_ decide your party's next nominee." Even without any visual cues or apparent body language, the scorn which infused those two words was apparent. "If you do, you'll end up with that halfwit Ritchie and you will lose."

"And I suppose you've got a better idea?" Simmons asked.

Lex Luthor leaned forward until his face was clearly visible on the television screen and said, "I do."


End file.
